On My Own
by Centroides
Summary: Sometimes, even though you are part of a team, you find yourself alone. The easy way is to turn your back and do nothing especially if doing something is going to be hard or maybe get you into trouble. What do the men do when they are faced with that dilemma?
1. Chapter 1

On My Own

Chapter 1

Lieutenant Craig Garrison stood at the head of the briefing table surveying the four men before him. Their looks were a mixture of interest, suspicion and feigned boredom. Actor, used to facing his mark and using subterfuge to get what he wanted was always up for the challenge. What Casino thought was less easy to read. His body posture said boredom but his eyes were narrowed with suspicion. As the one man used to working in a group, he expected problems, in fact he looked for them. Having dealt with people of less than stellar credentials in the loyalty or the morals departments, he knew betrayal and he expected it, if not within his new team then from their boss's boss.

Goniff looked uncertain. The man who loved fun had been told the risks and the dangers but he had signed on anyway. Whether he had under estimated the danger or this was better than prison, Garrison would never know. He was here now and even after facing the reality of this life he was still here, his loyalty to the team prevented him from backing out. He looked confident, but he was just as accomplished at hiding his worries. He was never enthusiastic but then he wasn't backing out either.

Chief was easier to read. He was committed. He rarely spoke, usually looking uninterested but he was taking it all in. Occasionally he offered an opinion but given the plan and the order to go he would carry it out to the best of his abilities. He was dependable.

They were an oddball team but they were his.

"This is a one man operation." He held up his hand to stop the objections he saw coming. "An agent needs extraction. In and out."

"Another piece of cake, huh Warden."

Garrison ignored Chief's comment. The last 'piece of cake' had seen the two of them almost caught and Chief shot in the leg.

"One man alone is too risky," said Actor. "The two of us have a better chance."

"You need someone to watch your back," added Chief.

"Duly noted and you are right," he said turning to acknowledge the input. "Unfortunately there is only space for one on the transport."

"What're you going in on, a mosquito?" asked Casino sarcastically.

"I would suggest a Hawker," put in Actor. "A Mosquito seats…"

"I mean, a real one, the blood sucking one."

"That's enough," said the voice of authority.

"Look on the bright side," started Goniff.

"No." The voice was still in authority mode and he glared at each man. "You will stay right here. You got that?"

"Aw, come on, Warden. With you off… why shouldn't we…"

"Because if, no, when you get into trouble there will be no one to bail you out. You are well known to the locals so that means you come to the attention of HQ."

"And they'll leave us in lockup 'til you return," finished Casino, rolling his eyes.

"Johns will leave you, just not in the local." That got their attention. "Stay put and stay out of trouble."

"How long do you think you will be?"

Had Actor asked this out of curiosity or to change the subject? The man was good.

"I don't know, but I leave in an hour."

Garrison changed into his civilian clothes, gave last minute instructions to the Sargent Major and got into the jeep. He could have accepted the pickup but taking the jeep meant it was no longer available to his men to use for their jaunts into town or a trip to London There was still the truck but he knew it was low on petrol and a lot more conspicuous than a jeep. The building's owner's car was in the garage and though the Sargent Major had the keys that meant nothing to the accomplished car thieves in his team. He had long ago taken the precaution of removing the distributor wire and the rotor. It was not going to start. Chief had probably already noticed the parts missing. Sadly he realized all they had to do was steal the necessary parts. Sad to say, yes his men would do that. Maybe he should remove something else. Too late, he had to leave.

The Lieutenant drove to the airbase, parked the jeep and walked to the briefing tent where the he meet up with the rest of the passengers. They were part of the Tactical crew with the Twelfth Air Force being delivered to the new Air Base near Lecce in Southern Italy. He was tagging along and would be flown in to his destination from there.

Some anxious looks were exchanged when they heard there was a storm centred over southeastern Italy. Many planes could fly over a storm but landings and takeoffs within a storm added extra risk. The briefing was delayed while the weather watches tracked the storm.

The crew and passengers trooped over to the Mess tent for coffee and cigarettes. The men knew not to ask details but the normal way for men confined to an area to pass the time was in conversation.

"Frankie Basso, Twelfth Air Force, Tactical," said the Second Lieutenant, a dark haired, blue eyed youngster.

"Garrison, OSS."

"Yeah? You been there long?"

"A while." He did not like the scrutiny but he did not want to be rude either,

"I thought you guys worked as a team, you know, not solo."

"I usually do." He felt like Chief with his one word answers. Was this why he did it?

"So, how'd you get into this? You ask for a transfer?"

This was going too far. "No. I was asked." He said it in his 'end of discussion' tone that usually worked on his men. To reinforce this he got up and went to the door. As he left he heard someone's comment that, 'it must be nerves'. He was not nervous but he was concerned, not about the mission but about his men back at their base. They had a bad habit of not obeying orders.

Time to put that out of his mind and concentrate on the job at hand. He had a mission to carry out.

Finally they were on their way. Being the last to board Garrison was assured of a seat near the door. That plus the noise of the engines prevented any conversation. The weather over England was clear with scattered cumulus clouds so the flight was smooth. It was not until they were closer to Italy before the pilot began to run into the storm clouds. The descent started out smoothly but quickly became rough as they flew through the clouds. Garrison was a pilot and a seasoned flyer but even he was becoming concerned. Even the best pilot could crash under these conditions. The slightest delay or miscalculation could mean death.

A hard bump followed by lift and another bump meant they were finally down. After a short taxi they came to a stop. The rest of the passengers disembarked then Garrison went forward. He knew the answer but he had to ask.

"I assume the next leg is on hold?" From the cockpit he could see the rain falling in sheets with the angle varying from fifteen to twenty degrees. He was glad he wasn't the one flying and he expected the pilot and co-pilot wished they weren't either. As if on cue the radio came to life ordering the pilot to shut down. The co-pilot acknowledged and they began the shutdown routine as the Lieutenant headed for the door. He would have to go to the Base Commander's Office.

"Lieutenant Garrison reporting, Sir."

Colonel Diluca was not a big man but he had an air of authority. Standing only five foot nine he had wide shoulders and a barrel chest. His face was battle scared but there was no mistaking the intelligence in his dark brown eyes.

"Come in. I know you're anxious to get there but I can't afford to lose man nor plane."

"Understood Sir."

"I've ordered word to be sent that you're stranded here and I'll let you know as soon as I hear back. In the meantime you might as well make yourself at home. Speaking of home, it's a new base so we have none of the amenities of home so you'll have to make do with what we have. You passed the Mess on your way here. Out and to the left are the barracks. See the Quarter Master for a bunk."

"Any word on the weather?"

"Stalled. That's all I can get. You'll just have to wait it out like the rest of us."

"Thank you Sir."

Back out in the rain Garrison ran to the Mess. First order was coffee and a cigarette then maybe food.

An hour later a young private wearing a rain poncho approached his table.

"Lieutenant Garrison?"

"Yes."

"Commander Diluca wants to see you."

"Thank you Private." He got up and grinned as the soldier pulled out and extra poncho and handed it to him. Pulling it on he followed the Private, hoping for good news.

"The winds have dropped but visibility is too low for a flight. We do have a local fisherman willing to take you north but you will have to make your way from where ever he can land you. It's your call."

Garrison's immediate reaction was yes but the Commander's tone gave him pause. If he was confident he would have just set it up and told him to go. Letting Garrison decide was telling him that there was a good chance that this was riskier than a drop. The Commander would have had a lot of experience sending men to their deaths in battle, battles that were hoped to shorten or even end the war. Did he feel this mission was not important? Is that why he refused to make this an order? Or was there something else? Did he not trust the fisherman? Was that it?

"I'd like to meet him first." The look on the Commander's face meant he had made the right decision. Don't trust the fisherman. He wished Actor was here. He was a professional at reading people and as much as he trusted himself it was always good to have a second opinion. Being a native Italian would probably help too. With his second back in England, he would have to make the call.

It was late afternoon, though the thick cloud cover made it look later, when Garrison was taken to the harbour at San Cataldo to meet Drago, the fisherman. He was told that the man spoke limited English, though it was thought he understood more than he admitted.

As Garrison approached the wharf Drago stepped off his boat and waited. He was a short thin man with thick black hair that hung over his brows. With his hat pulled low Garrison could not read his eyes. How important was this mission? With the Italians severing their ties with the Germans, was the agent still in danger, or was this the reason he needed extracting? Garrison could just report that he was delayed and wait out the storm. He had a legitimate excuse.

An excuse, that was what it was, an excuse for not carrying out his mission. He was an Officer and he didn't accept or give excuses. And what if the agent was captured or killed while he sat here with his excuse? He refused to take that chance.

"You can take me north?"

"Si. Ci lasciamo ora. We go now."

"Yes." He was committed. Nodding his thanks to the Corporal who had driven him to the harbour he boarded the fishing vessel.

The two headed for the wheelhouse. Garrison had seen the sea when he had arrived and it looked rough. He was an airman. He knew clouds and altitude and shear winds and although he had been on many ships he did not know the sea. Was it safe to head out? The fisherman, Drago, seemed to think it was safe. He had his doubts.

Out of the shelter of the coast the winds picked up and the little boat began to roll and buck as it hit the waves. Turning into the wind helped with the roll but still the bow rose and fell. Garrison was not prone to seasickness but the rise and fall with the constantly shifting horizon was disconcerting. At least the engine sounded steady.

With the driving rain and low clouds it did not take long for the land to disappear. The expression on the Italian's face had not changed so hopefully he knew what he was doing.

"How much farther?" he asked.

The answer was not encouraging. "Little longer."

Was he being vague because of the language or was he unsure where they were? There were no instruments other than a compass but Garrison knew there were people who just seemed to know where they were. Chief was like that. He claimed he wasn't a tracker yet when they hid their equipment he was always able to lead them right back to it. Goniff had said he was like a 'ruddy squirrel'.

All Garrison could do was hold on, both literally and figuratively. He continued to scan the horizon in hopes of seeing land. Maybe if they were closer the sea would not be as rough.

A gust of wind caught the bow and Drago spun the wheel to correct. It took a moment before he had the course corrected but Garrison saw something change. He heard it too. Drago looked worried. Was it the engine? The sound had changed. There was still the steady throb but something was missing. Another wave broke over the bow splashing almost to the wheelhouse windows. Drago make another correction as he peered out the rain streaked glass. Was he looking for land too?

Then another thought. With the sea this rough how were they to land? Images of shipwrecks came to mind. He had survived combat, jumped out of airplanes and held up under torture at the hands of the enemy. Was he to die in a shipwreck?

A large wave appeared degrees to port and Drago swung the wheel to meet the face. The bow buried then rose shaking off the water but when it hit the crest the wind caught the bow pushing it to starboard. Drago fought the wheel trying to bring it back but the boat was committed. The next wave hit them at an angle, catching the side of the bow rolling the boat. The two men hung on doggedly. Another wave rolled in but the pilot got her headed into it and again the bow dug in before rising.

Garrison knew aircraft. He knew the feeling of a fully powered craft as it responded to the controls. Ships were not that much different. When an aircraft was damaged or an engine quit it did not respond the same. It was sluggish just like this boat was. She was slow to come around and she dug in deeper before rising. Was the engine losing power? If it quit… He had to check but as he turned to go an iron grip on his arm stopped him and Drago pulled him to the wheel. He yelled something then headed for the engine room. Garrison grabbed the wheel and fought the wind and the waves. Without his military conditioning he would not have lasted long. As it was, he soon felt the burn in his arms and shoulders.

For a novice, he thought he was doing reasonably well until another wave loomed. This time the trough was narrower so the boat was still sliding down when the crest broke crashing over not just the bow but the wheelhouse as well. The force blew in the windows and slammed Garrison into the back wall.

"Well, boys, it looks like we have the place to ourselves," said Casino as he stretched. "Hey Actor, why don't you call up some of your dames and invite them over."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not know any 'dames'.

"You know what I mean."

Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of the Sargent Major. "All right you lads, the Left-tenant left a schedule of activities. First on the list is to warm up with calisthenics. Hey!" He watched as the men rose and headed for the door. "Where do you think you're going? These dished have to be washed before you leave the kitchen."

"Make up your mind; dishes or 'grab ass'?" groused Casino.

"You know that the dishes must be done. When they are dried and put away you are to assemble outside."

Half an hour later the Brit was still waiting. Stalling was a major talent for the cons.

Water slapped his face and tried to get up his nose. He sputtered and ended up gulping more water which brought coughing and spitting as he tried to clear his airway and rid his mouth of the taste of salt. He was treading water but his arms and shoulders ached. Fearing for his life he pushed on. Blinking the water from his eyes he tried to look around but all he saw was more water. All around was grey sky and grey water. Even the air was grey. On and on it went, up one side of the wave and down the other. Where was the land? How far out had they been and what had happened to the boat? Where was Drago? Had he made it out? He had been heading for the engine room. Garrison turned all around but all he saw was water; wall after wall of it.

Shaking the water from his eyes he continued to search. Was that something? Dark patches that could have been wreckage lightened as they crested. He kept looking but the salt water was irritating his eyes. Nothing mattered but surviving. Push on.

Another mirage appeared and he watched as he rose to the crest. The wind drove water into his face but he kept watching. Yes. It was something. He had to get to it. Drago might still be there. He had to get there. Normally he would have just swum to it, he was a strong swimmer, but his arms were leaden and he could not lift them clear of the water. He looked longingly, so close but so far. It was true. He couldn't get there; he was going to die. Drowned, lost at sea, missing in action.

What would happen to the guys; his men?

Actor, the ultimate con man. He appeared serious in his commitment to the cause when he was interviewed. Then when they started their training he changed, taking nothing seriously; working half-heartedly. He had begun to doubt him until they were on the ground and he became all business. Back home he reverted again. It took a few missions before he truly became part of the team encouraging the others in subtle way to do the same. He had become his second and on occasion he took over. His advice was invaluable. Would a new leader accept him as he was? Would he be able to see past the criminal record to the man? Would Actor accept another leader? He had tested Garrison before accepting him. Would the next man measure up?

Casino was opinionated and abrupt but he was good. He had a talent with safes and locks that was absolutely necessary in their business. It was his personality that would get him into trouble. He saw a problem and he let everyone know it. Something or somebody rubbed him the wrong way and he was quick to air his beef. The truth was that he irritated a lot of people including him but if you listened, Casino was often right. His concerns were valid. Would the next man take the time to get to know the man enough to see below his antagonistic exterior? And would Casino let him?

And Goniff. He had been taken on for his talents, nothing else as had the others, but it had not taken Garrison long to see that he brought more to the team than just sticky fingers. He was an optimist. He looked on the bright side, he brought fun and as distracting as that was it did ease the tension that inevitably rose when men worked as close together as they did. This trait and his propensity for high jinks often led to trouble. The barkeeper at the local pub knew them all personally. So did the local Bobbies. Would the next man see past the problems be created? Would he see his worth?

Then there was Chief. He was sullen, he refused to participate, he and Casino bickered and fought but damn it the man was loyal and dedicated. He would give his life for him. Would Chief transfer that loyalty? If the new man tried to force his participation it would not go well. Chief would not be forced. If pushed, he pushed back. Chief would push himself right back to prison.

Four misfits that he had taken and formed into a team, a damn good one. It would be a waste to throw all that away, either by disbanding them or putting the wrong man in place. The only way he could save this team was to get back to them alive.

Picturing his men he kicked once and then again for Actor who had become the best second a leader could want. For Casino who kept him on his toes but had never let him down he pushed his arm out and pulled himself forward. For Goniff, whose smile revealed whether he had done good or whether he had been up to something he would hear about later, he kicked. For Chief who had given him his trust he reached out with his other arm and pulled. Each pull and each kick brought him that little bit closer. 'For you Actor, for you Casino, for you Goniff, for you Chief'. His fingers brushed the rough plank. Another kick, another reach and the plank pulled away as it slid down the other side of the wave. Again he kicked and pulled, shaking the water from his eyes until he again pulled close to the raft as they began to rise up the other side.

For Actor, his stiff tight hand clawed for purchase and pulled. For Goniff, his left hand reached out, found a hold and pulled. For Casino, he kicked as he pulled himself up onto the raft. For Chief, his right hand reached out and he pulled. For Actor he pulled with his left hand. For Casino he pulled and kicked until he was as far out of the water as he could get and then he rode the waves. Occasionally a wave broke over him but at least he was no longer swimming, he was no longer dying, no longer drowning. He would live. He would rest for a bit then look for Drago.

"What are you doing?" demanded the shocked woman's voice.

"He might still be alive," answered another woman's voice, patient but under stress.

"Leave him," the first voice commanded. "He'll be dead soon enough."

"I don't care. Help me pull him out of the water. The tide's coming in."

"Are you mad? He's the enemy. Push him back out."

"He's a man, a human."

"He's a man who will kill you when he wakes up."

The man in the water heard this but he did not understand. The language they spoke was foreign to him and he was too tired to care. He was too tired to care that someone or something was pulling on his coat, pulling his arm. He was aware but in a dreamlike state, hearing, feeling but unable to do anything, even open his eyes. It didn't matter anyway. He was in enemy territory so whoever it was would turn him in. Might as well die here. The pulling stopped.

"If you won't help me then get out of the way." The previously calm voice was angry now.

"I'm trying to protect you. If anyone sees you, you'll be tried as a traitor."

"What if he was your Luan and someone found him? What then, would you say to leave him to drown?"

There was a moment of silence then the pulling resumed. The action was not smooth but came in fits and starts, sometimes one side and then the other, sometimes together, each jerk painfully pulling his shoulder joints. Finally the pulling stopped.

"I'll wait here. Go get the cart."

"No. I'll wait, you go."

"What, don't you trust me? You're wet and you need to move to get warm." The words were terse.

"I'm fine. You can go faster than I. Go."

There was silence other than the sound of the waves and a few gulls. He thought he was alone until he felt the gentle touch on his face, brushing away the sand and seaweed. Then he heard the humming, a gentle soothing sound. With the sound and touch he could pretend he was safe, he could die now, stop fighting and just let go. His world dissolved.

He awoke slowly; the sounds and smells from his dreams became stronger as they meshed with reality. He opened his eyes to almost darkness and the smell of wood smoke. The dimness flickered off to the right so he turned to look. There in front of the fire was a woman dressed in a long dress with a shawl over her head and shoulders. With only the fire for light it was hard to tell what colour, everything was brown and grey. She moved away from the fire, almost vanishing in the shadows, revealing the profile of a second woman sitting by the fire. She wore a similar shawl and long skirt.

There were two women in his dream. Was he still dreaming or was he awake and really here in this tiny cottage. Where was here? He had been heading north; his destination was … What was his destination? He was on a boat with… Drago. His mind flashed to the fisherman standing on the dock, standing at the wheel fighting the storm. He had gone below and that was the last he remembered. He was dead and that thought saddened him. He hadn't known him, hadn't really trusted him but he had agreed to take him out in the rough weather. He had risked his life and he had lost. Worse, Garrison remembered trying to go to the hold but Drago had stopped him. Did he have anyone waiting for him, worrying and then grieving when he did not return?

Across from the seated figure was a rack with what looked like clothing hanging to dry. On the floor was a pair of shoes, his…

Garrison's hand moved without prompting. Skin on skin; he was not wearing anything. Those were his clothes hanging by the fire. He was naked in a strange room, somewhere, with two women with nothing but a coarse blanket covering him. From his angle he was close to the floor but not on it. It was a bed of sorts and from the feel it was a straw pallet.

His motion caught the attention of the woman by the fire. She turned to look but that threw her face into darkness. Was she pleased, angry, afraid? He couldn't tell. The second woman approached but her face was also hidden.

Wanting to remain nonthreatening he rose slowly up onto his elbows. The blanket slid down so he grabbed it and pulled it up. Did Italian women of indeterminate age find a half-naked man threatening? Wait. He had not undressed himself, someone had. Still he did not want to offend them. At this point he was totally reliant on them.

"Il mio nome è Garrison." Hopefully his accent wasn't too bad. Unfortunately that was about all he knew in Italian.

"Çfarë po thotë ai?"

"Italisht."

That didn't sound like Italian. Maybe it was some dialect. "Parlez-vous français?" asked Garrison. That didn't work how about, "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"

"Gjermanet qen," spat the standing woman.

That was the wrong choice. There had not been a response to Italian or French and he feared using English. Maybe there was someone else who spoke French. He gestured to his clothes hoping they were dry enough to put on. The one by the fire shook her head. Were they still wet or were they trying to keep him there? This was not going well. He sat watching, waiting.

The one by the fire spoke resulting in a grunt from the other. She moved off then headed back to the fire. She did something at the fire and then brought him a bowl of a thin stew that smelled good. His "Grazie," went unanswered.

After he had eaten he considered his situation. First thing was to get his clothes and then try to figure out where he was. Once that was established he would have to find a way to get to his destination. He had a mission to complete. Was he far enough north? Too far? On the off chance he asked, "San Severo?" He was ignored.

"Per favore." He gestured to his clothes. The one who brought the food ignored him but the one by the fire reached over to check. Standing slowly she checked then pulled his shirt off the rack. She made her way over to the pallet and he realized she limped badly. He felt bad about making her walk so he sat up and reached for the shirt. As she handed it to him he saw the smile. She was not beauiful but her smile was genuine. His "Grazie," was answered with, "JType text or a website address or translate a document.

u jeni të mirëpritur."

That wasn't Italian, was it? What did Actor say? He thought back but it didn't come. Damn. Actor was right and he wished he had been able to bring him. As it was he was alone so he would do what he could. What was …? Prego. That was Italian for welcome and that didn't sound even close to what she had said, assuming she had said 'you're welcome.'

Garrison luxuriated in the warmth of the material as he put his shirt on. The cottage was not warm but the shirt held the heat of the fire. The pants remained where they were so they were probably still damp. He hoped they would soon be dry because at some point he was going to have to go outside.

Back at their base the four cons were trying to decide what to do today.

"Let's go to London. There's a part of town where…" started Goniff.

"Garrison is not here," stated Actor.

"All the better; what he doesn't know…"

"He cannot bail us out from."

"Oh yeah." That idea was tossed out without seeing the details.

"Shall we rejoin the Sargent-Major?" They had waited until his attention was taken by one of the guards before slipping away.

"Might as well," answered Casino. "You know, I never thought staying here would be so…"

"Boring?"

"Yeah" Three men were sitting on the back step smoking. Chief was sitting on the balustrade with his feet braced against the newel post tossing pebbles into the urn that once held flowers, now dead from neglect.

"Can we still go down to the Doves for a pint?" asked Goniff.

"As long as we remember that Garrison…"

"Yeah, I know."

"So when's he coming back?"

"Who knows?"

"Think they'd tell us if he was in trouble?"

Casino gave a resounding "No."

"So how will we know?"

"That's the worst of it. We don't."

"What if his family called about an emergency?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, a death in the family…"

"Or an illness. Is his Mother still alive? If she was dying and asked to see her son, would they tell her when he was coming back?"

"Probably not. They'd take a message with a promise to have him call her."

"Yeah. Heartless bastards."

"There must be some sort of con that would get them to tell us."

The wind ruffled Garrison's hair as he stood at the edge of the beach. Row after row of waves rolled in crashing on the shore. Farther out the undulating swells continued to roll in, exploding into white foam as they neared the shore. The wind, smelling of salt and fish, had dropped considerably but the sea still ran high. Overhead the clouds still hung low obscuring the sun. Out at the horizon the clouds lightened where they met the dark water. He let his eyes drift up and down the coast. There was no mention and no sign of a body. I'm on my own, he thought, with a mission to complete and somewhere along that coast was his destination. He had been headed there by boat. Looking out at the white caps he knew the draught was too shallow for a boat to pick him up here even if he could signal for a pickup. He would have to determine his location and walk.

Less than half an hour ago he had awakened and risen from his place by the fire. The two women who had rescued him had tried to get him to spend another night in their bed but he had refused. Finally relenting they had climbed into the bed and he lay by the fire, though he was sure they had slept in their clothes as protection from him. The taller woman, who he named Crow, definitely did not like him. Her tone was curt and he was sure what she said to him was not lady-like. The other woman, the one with the limp, would smile and talk kindly to him. If the one was Crow then she was Swan. These names were not really suitable. Crow had lighter hair than Swan and with her limp she was not graceful. It was their personalities he had named. Maybe he was being unfair to Crows.

On the other hand he didn't know them. What were these two women doing living under these primitive conditions here on the coast? They appeared to live here alone. How did they survive? The Crow was protective of Swan, stepping in, sometimes rudely, to take over heavier jobs like lifting the heavy cooking pot onto its hook over the fire but she also gently helped her with her shawl. There was a connection between these two. Were they sisters? That would explain some of Crow's reaction to his presence. She feared for her younger handicapped sister's safety. She was protecting her.

He could not hate her for that. He just wished he could reassure her that he meant no harm and would help if he could and he would leave as soon as possible.

Was his presence here endangering them? Did they know he was an American agent, a spy? That would put them in danger. He had to get out of here but first he had to know where he was. If he drew a map could they show him where he was? He would have to try. Until then he memorized how the light lay and the angle of the waves. At this point it was the only cues he had.

Motion farther down the shore caught his eye and he watched. The shape moved with the familiar awkward gait of the Swan. She moved to the water's edge and stood looking out to the sea. She looked forlorn standing out there with the wind blowing her skirt and her shawl. Was she looking to escape as he was or was she waiting for someone to return? He wished he could help her.

A sound behind him drew his attention and he turned. Crow was standing farther up the dirt track watching him.

"Marinar?" she asked when he approached. She almost sounded sad. Had she lost someone to the sea? Maybe her husband was a sailor and she waited for his return or knew that he would never return.

"No," and he shook his head. His automatic reaction had been to answer in English and he feared her reaction. No, he was sure Actor used that as well. He was going to have to get Actor to teach him more Italian or make sure he brought him in the future. Fortunately she gave no indication, just nodded.

Di dove sei?"

He had no idea how to answer that but if she was talking to him he might as well ask his question. Looking around he found a stick and in a clear spot on the track he drew a rough map of the east coast of Italy. She looked but showed no recognition. Did she not know? Maybe his map was too crude. He poked a spot and said "Roma" and then another that he named, Naples, Napoli." Still nothing. He continued with Lecce and Bari. Now he was running out of names. He tried to picture what other cities were along the southern coast. It was possible she only knew this immediate area. In desperation he marked Taranto.

"Tirana," she corrected and pointed inland back over her right shoulder.

Progress, he thought. Now we're getting somewhere. Mentally he placed himself on the map. If the angle was right then he had to be near Bari. How was it that she knew Taranto but not Bari? That had to be closer. There was also the problem of the terrain. The southern coast of Italy was flat. This was hilly. Was he maybe, farther north? How far before it became this hilly? He tried to visualize the topographical map of the Italian coast and failed. Where was he?

He had to go north. That would take him closer to his destination. It was going to be a long walk but if he could get to a road he might be able to get a ride. The language was going to be a bit of a problem, the local dialect was so different. It must be because of being cut off out here in the hills. Other than the dirt track he had not seen any roads but maybe over the hill. The path he had taken to get here ended here. There was no road north so he would have to back track until he found one. It was time to go.

He was hungry, having eaten nothing since … yesterday, but he couldn't ask. He turned and headed back toward the cottage, aware that Crow was not with him. When he checked he saw her still standing there gazing out to sea. Was she waiting for someone too or was she just looking over her sister?

His shoes were stiff from the soaking so he was going to have to be careful of blisters. His socks would give him some cushioning but with the amount of walking he was going to have to do the results were inevitable.

He paused at the old stone church. It looked ancient but still intact. The interior was small and the road was a dirt track so he was unlikely to meet anyone along here. Having already made sure he had left nothing behind, he passed the side track that led to the cottage and continued on down the path.

He had hoped to find a road but instead he came to an intersection. To his right led up the hill into the trees. The left was the direction he wanted but straight ahead was the problem. There was the sea, ahead and behind. One problem he could put behind him but the problems were mounting and he couldn't ignore them. The language could be a dialect, the hilly terrain could be his unfamiliarity but this… Face it, he wasn't in Italy. Then where the Hell was he and how did he get back there?

As he approached the cottage he saw the cart and the donkey out front. Was this a friend or had he brought them trouble?


	2. Chapter 2

On My Own

Chapter 2

Leaving the trees he approached the cottage. With no windows the only way those inside could see him was from the door but it also meant he could not see inside either. All he could do was try to get close enough to hear but with the stone walls he had little hope. To make it even more difficult he was going to have to rely on the tone not the words. Damn, he needed Actor.

He was correct in his concern about hearing. At first there was nothing, not even a murmur. What were they doing? Were both women inside? When he left both women were down by the water. Were they still there? His watch had quit, damaged by the salt water but he knew he hadn't been gone that long.

He circled around behind the cottage to avoid the door and ran for the beach. It was deserted. They had to be inside the cottage. As he turned to go back he saw the tracks on the path were new. The donkey's tracks overlaid his where he had stood and talked to Crow. The cart had been down here recently. Had the driver of the cart harmed the women? Or brought supplies? Had the driver seen his tracks? Damn.

Running did not enter his mind. His personal survival ranked high but not at the expense of a woman, especially two who had saved his life. He ran back to the cottage and approached the door. When he was right beside it he heard the man's voice. It was quiet but there was a hint of admonishment. Crow came back with an angry retort. Garrison felt a flash of unexpected pride. Crow stood up for herself and her sister though he feared the man's reaction. There was none. Had he accepted her insolence? Maybe he was a brother used to dealing with his sister and her strong opinions. At least they were safe. He could leave but where was he to go?

Mentally he reviewed his map. He had left Italy heading north on the Adriatic Sea. Was it possible he had crossed the sea and was now in … Albania? That would explain the language, the terrain…

How was he to get from Albania to Italy? Which side were these women on? Crow sounded disgusted when he tried German. They had to be pro Allied. Would he stake his life on that? No. He had to figure it out. Once the stranger left he would go in and ask. This close to the sea, did they ever find downed flyers? Did they know an escape route or even know someone with a radio? He slipped back away from the door as he heard the familiar creak of the latch.

"Monsieur Garrison," a man's voice called out, "Les Dames me ont dit."

What had the women told him? He was speaking French, though his accent was not the best. It was not his native language but he was trying.

"Je suis un ami," the voice said.

Was he, was he a friend? Garrison was going to have to trust him. Too bad he couldn't see if he was armed. The women would have told him that he was unarmed. The weapon he had carried in the under arm holster had disappeared, most likely lost at sea. Either that or the women had taken it. He slipped around the corner of the cottage alert to danger, ready to turn and run.

"Bienvenue, mon ami." He was not very tall and being dressed in bulky clothes it was hard to tell his build. His face was more revealing. From the wrinkles, he was in his mid-sixties but the smile was that of a little kid. He had a Goniff smile.

Garrison reminded himself he couldn't always trust Goniff when he smiled either but he was going to have to trust this man at least to a certain degree.

"Bienvenue, mon ami. Bienvenue a Shqiperi, Albanie." The man held out his hand in welcome. Behind him the two women stood watching.

Garrison had been right, he was in Albania. He took the offered hand and shook it but remained wary.

"Votre retour en France?"

"Je vais en Italie. Pouvez-vous aider?" If Garrison could get there he could still complete his mission.

"Po, eh, Oui. Je aide. Venir."

"Comment puis-je vous dire merci en Albanais?"

The man nodded his approval and said, "faleminderit."

The American stumbled over the word, saying it to each woman. They smiled, either at his mangling of their language or that he attempted it. Either was fine to him. He had to admit that Crow looked much better when she smiled. Maybe he better change her name. Even better he pointed to himself and said his name. Then he pointed to Crow.

"Miriam," was her response and Swan said, "Raizel."

Garrison repeated each name and then without thought he said, "Thank you." Realizing what he had done he nailed a lid on any reaction. Surely it didn't matter. He waited but all he got was the man's name, "Rinor."

The man climbed into the two wheeled cart so Garrison followed. As he boarded he looked in the back. There were three wooden boxes and a canvas sack. All looked well used. Rinor waved to the women then picked up the reins, whistled to the donkey and they were off.

It was a long ride made longer by the lack of springs and his own lack of padding. Every bump and every rut was telegraphed directly up his spine to his head. They kept to the donkey track for a time, before entering a smoother road that ran through the trees, ascending and descending the hills. They walked the inclines to make it easier for the sturdy little animal. Up and down the valleys and ridges they travelled until they left the trees for open land and Garrison spotted the sea. Even from here he saw there was no harbour and from the way the breakers rolled in the water was too shallow for a boat. The land sloped downward for a time before they turned away and headed back into the hills.

Without the trees it was cooler here but even though he was in good physical shape he knew he could not pace the donkey for long so he sat. Eventually they came to a house and then another. All along this stretch there were houses and as the occupants heard his approach, they came out and greeted the driver. He was well known and well liked. At one stop a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, approached with a cloth bundle. He handed it up and asked a question hopefully. Rinor knelt down, smiled and answered. The boy looked disappointed but one look back at his Mother stiffened his spine and he nodded.

They continued along, into the trees again, passing through a second town. Again Rinor stopped to talk to the people. At one stop a young woman came out and Rinor hugged her. From the look on their faces it was commiseration for a loss. When they broke apart he reached into the cart and removed the sack. She took it and hugged him again. Eventually the pair were alone again and Rinor opened the bundle. Inside were sausages and bread, a feast to Garrison's empty stomach.

"Il voulait venir."

""Le garcon?"

"Oui, mais sa Mere a besoin de lui."

Garrison thought about what had happened. Was he a peddler? These towns were isolated but other than the sack given to the woman he had made no trades. What was his purpose? Maybe he was just gregarious. On they travelled.

Too soon they entered a rough side track that followed the ridge but eventually headed for the sea. Down at the water was a large beach but nowhere to land a boat. They continued on. Down on the flat Rinor set the donkey to trot and they made good time. Garrison wondered where their destination was. From the fading light it had to be getting late.

The older man began to whistle a tune. Garrison was immediately alert. Covertly he watched but saw nothing suspicious until Rinor turned the cart up a side track to a cottage built into the hill. As he pulled up, the door opened and a woman deftly sidestepped as two children darted out and ran to the driver, pulling at him before he was even on the ground. Their excited, high pitched voices were speaking German and Rinor answered in kind. From his pocket came treats that the children grasped eagerly before darting off. The woman had come out to watch and the American saw that it was him she was watching. He was the stranger here in a time where strangers were possible danger. She turned back to the door, alerted by a sound and spoke. As Garrison watched an elderly man tottered out. He spotted Rinor and nodded, then stood watching Garrison.

Rinor made the introductions in German and the woman nodded but stayed where she was. The old man greeted him with, "Willkommen."

""Danke."

"Sie sprechen Deutsch?"

"Ja."

"Sie haben die nachricht von Deutschland?"

"Nein." This saddened the man but it worried Garrison. He obviously had ties to Germany. What were they? Were they German citizens? Maybe her husband was in the German Army stationed here. He would be careful. As the old man turned to go back inside Garrison saw the Jewish kippah.

Garrison thought he understood. He was Jewish, a German Jew who had fled. He wanted to know if it was safe to go home. Garrison felt for the man and his family. The woman's face held a sadness as well. They had fled their home to avoid persecution.

Rinor gestured to Garrison and began unloading the cart. Garrison took a crate and carried it inside as the woman held the door. He put it in the corner where the old man indicated and went back to get another. The hovel was primitive but they had attempted to civilize it. The clothes that were not on their backs were hanging up in an attempt to cover the rough timbers that supported the roof. A blanket covered the back wall. A white cloth covered the table and it was set with dinner plates. They had fled with little.

By the time Garrison carried in the last crate in and carried out the empties, Rinor had unhitched the donkey and put it in the lean-to at the side. He joined the American and went inside where the woman thanked them and indicated the two bowls on the table. The old man came and sat as well. He was eager to hear any news. After eating everyone bedded down to sleep.

What felt like an hour later Garrison was shaken awake. They put their coats on and were out the door. Rinor quickly harnessed the donkey and they were under way. Back close to the shore the wind was bitter and both, probably the donkey too, were glad to turn inland. The land was flat and the donkey took to a trot covering ground quickly.

By keeping to the rapid pace the donkey had them across the plain and close to the foothills of a larger range of mountains. It was still early as they skirted Thumane and Bushnesh and entered the mountains. Garrison watched as Rinor visibly relaxed.

"Can you still get me to Italy?" asked the American. The trip across the plain had been to the east. He wanted west. Rinor explained that the Resistance was based in the hills and it was these people who could help him. There was nothing Garrison could do but go along with him. Hopefully his men were staying out of trouble.

Today we have a trip around the obstacle course. I've added a few…"

"You take a trip around the course with your added few but we're going to do a little target practice," called Casino over his shoulder.

"That is not on today's list," said the Sargent-Major. It was on it but not anywhere near the top. Fortunately the American Lieutenant did allow him a certain amount of leeway because they both knew fighting the cons on too many detail resulted in nothing getting done.

"It should be," added the safecracker. "Goniff can't hit the broad side of a barn."

"I'm not that bad. I usually 'it what I'm aiming at."

"Well then you need to work on your aim."

The Sargent Major knew when he was beaten. At least they were in motion so target practice it was.

Half an hour later Casino was getting bored so he decided to spice it up. "How about the kid. I think he needs some practice too."

"What're you talking about? I can shoot better'n you."

"I meant with your knife. You need a target. Hey, Sargent-Major. Go stand over by the target."

He actually took a step before he realized what was going on. He was so used to obeying orders he sometimes forgot. He heard the laughter coming so continued over to the target and turned it around. The back was solid wood, a bit hard for practice which meant Chief would have to throw harder for it to stick.

"There you go, lad," he said as he walked back.

Seeing he had been thwarted Casino added, "He needs a target. How about you stand there in front and Chief'll see how close he can come."

If you couldn't beat'm, join'um, thought the soldier. "I'm too big a target. You would do better. You go stand in front."

Never bluff a gambler. "All right," and he headed for the target.

The English soldier thought he was bluffing so he said nothing as Chief took out his first blade and flipped it. He wouldn't do it, would he? Just in case…

"Enough of that," he said as he stepped closer with his hand out. He hoped one of them would call it off but Chief drew his arm back and threw. Blimey he went through with it!

"Way wide Indian. Can't you do better than that?" mocked the living target.

He couldn't let this go on. "All right, you've 'ad your fun. That's enough." He tried to step in to block the knife thrower but he wasn't fast enough. The arm flicked out and Casino screamed.

Rinor headed the animal up along a narrow road. The two men disembarked to lighten the load on the steepest parts. Then finally they reached a ridge where Rinor stopped and stood still. After a moment he took out his pipe and began to fill it. Garrison recognized this as a signal. He tried to look around without being obvious; somewhere out there someone was watching them. When his pipe was drawing to his satisfaction he started walking and the donkey followed him.

At least half a mile later a man armed with a rifle stepped out into the track they had been following. He just stood waiting as Rinor approached. Garrison followed his lead and the two walked along on either side of the animal. When they reached the stranger who was dressed like Rinor the two men hugged and then Garrison was introduced.

The other man, who was named Dritan, did not speak French so Rinor continued to translate. They would be joining a band of Albanian guerilla fighters. Rinor explained that they had formed to fight the Italians who had invaded years earlier. With their defeat the fighters turned their sights on the Germans. Though vastly out gunned, they were adept at hill fighting where they attacked and withdrew, disappearing into the hills and rough terrain. They suffered their losses but moral was high.

Garrison was taken to their present camp. There were no amenities except a cooking fire. Everything else was makeshift which meant they travelled light and often. A hot meal and a strategy session finished off the day. They would attack a German camp just before dawn. It was hoped they could capture weapons and ammo, both of which they were running low on. Rinor asked if he could shoot and Garrison was given a rifle. No question, he was to go with them.

For four days, Lieutenant Garrison, West Point graduate, lived, trained and fought with the Albanian Resistance fighters. Rinor assured him that a message would be sent to London as soon as they could manage it. Their band did not have a radio but a runner had been sent with a message. It would take time so while he waited, he trained and fought. The conditions they had to endure were harsh but they never complained. He thought of his team. Chief was probably the only one who would fit in here but then for what they did, not one of these men could pull a con like Actor or open a safe like Casino or pick a pocket like Goniff. They were each doing what they did best to help win the war.

Just before dusk the men returned to their camp. As they rested up and began preparing their meal a runner arrived. He had good news. London had been contacted and a PT Boat would be sent in three days. He was to be taken to the coast where he would be taken out to the boat. He was on his way.

Garrison assumed he would be leaving in the morning so he tried to get to bed early. He had a long trip ahead of him. In the predawn hour he was woken with the others. Each man gathered his gear and checked his equipment. The American wondered who his escort was but no one stepped forward. Everyone was getting ready for battle. Still he would be ready when they were.

Everyone set off at a ground covering pace. An hour later as the sun was coming up over the hills they spied the enemy camped in the mouth of the valley between the hills. The plan was laid out and they silently moved into position. Garrison had offered to go in and sabotage what he could but he was refused. They would attack and run. That was the way they worked.

All went as planned. The Guerillas had surprise on their side and the higher ground but the enemy, after their initial confusion began firing mortars. Was it intentional that they fired over the Albanian's heads, cutting off their retreat? If it was, it worked. Used to hitting and running, they found themselves pinned down. By the time they fought their way out they had taken heavy losses. Scattered and running, they finally escaped but it took until nightfall for the survivors to start to gather. There were many wounded and even more missing. The raid had been a disaster. Garrison looked for but could not locate Rinor. He had seen him during the approach but he had split off before the attack. Hopefully he was still on his way back. He pitched in helping the wounded where he could.

It was a cold lonely night filled with the moans of the injured. With only light tents to shelter them and what firewood the healthy could find everyone was cold. There were going to be fewer living come morning. Garrison stayed up all night tending the fires and helping the wounded. He ached all over and not for the first time wished his men were here to help. Were they all right? Had they stayed out of trouble? Did he wish they were here to help or so that he could keep an eye on them? He smiled at that thought.

Dritan saw his smile and came over. Earlier in the evening he had heard Garrison curse when a delirious patient had fought back hitting him where no man wanted to be hit. Hearing his words he asked and Garrison admitted to being an American. Dritan spoke to him in English now.

"You smile. Please share your smile. I could do with one."

"I was thinking of my men, wishing they were here to help."

"You smile when you think of men? Not women?" he asked with a grin.

Garrison's smile widened especially when he remembered how they had dressed as women on one of their missions. "These men are very creative when it comes to getting into trouble."

"They get into trouble often?"

'Yeah." He sighed. "They're not bad, they're just…"

"Like children?'

Garrison nodded hoping he would not be asked for details. After a pause he added. "I was hoping to get back to them."

"Where are they? They did not come with you?"

"No. This was supposed to be an in and out quick operation."

"Like this last fight. Things go wrong." They lapsed into silence each thinking of the consequences.

It was a long cold night but dawn brought no relief, just rain. With the first light Garrison and Dritan checked the injured, moving the dead to a separate area. There were many. Fewer to tend but each fighter was important and their loss would be felt.

It was a somber group that collected around the cook fire. They had lost more than half their fighters. Some were uncounted, having fallen on the battlefield or maybe captured. Their fate was unknown. The rest had died during the night.

This presented a problem for Garrison. He wanted to leave; he had a mission of his own that he had to see through or at least find out if someone else had completed it. He also wanted to help these men. They fought with stolen weapons against superior forces but they refused to surrender. Only death would stop them. Now some of them might be in enemy hands. If they were alive he wanted to help them but how? If Actor was here he could… Why couldn't he?

Seeking out the leader he made his proposal and was turned down. Too risky, too dangerous, too late.

He explained that he had done this before but still he was refused. Finally he was permitted to go and have a look as long as he took four men with him. Not caring the reason he agreed and they set out.

It was a long walk in the rain before they reached a point where they could look out at the battlefield. In the distance they saw the column of smoke. One of the fighters sobbed in agony but Dritan grabbed his arm and then hugged him. Both men had tears in their eyes. Garrison didn't need an interpreter to know that the German's had burned the village in retaliation. From the display it was probably his village and his people.

Garrison made up his mind. Telling the men to stay he crawled closer. The camp they had attacked was still there. He edged as close as he could before bringing the borrowed binoculars to his eyes. There was no sign of prisoners, dead or alive. There was plenty of damage, with smoldering vehicles and at least one tent. They had done some damage at least. Where were the dead? He withdrew and began to circle the camp. Again he approached and watched. There was no opening, not even Goniff could get in there.

As he watched he saw his opportunity. Carefully he positioned the rifle and sighted down the barrel. Patience. Breathing in and out evenly he waited. Then his target reappeared and he fired. This close he could not waste any time so he began to back away immediately. Not rushing but with determination he retreated as he heard shouts and returned fire. Once it was safe to stand he ran back to where the others had waited. They had heard the shot and they fell into step as they fled. They ran until their lungs forced them to stop. Still they did not return to the rebel camp in case they were being followed. Taking a position off the faint game trail they waited but there was no sound of pursuit. Two of the men were whispering an argument. Dritan, who had taken cover near the American, put an end to it with a barked command. They waited half an hour before they started walking again, finally making their way back to their camp where Dritan gave his report, the bad news about the village and the good news, the Oberstleutnant was dead, shot in the head by a sniper.

Garrison had expected nothing in the way of thanks and that was what he got. A nod in his direction acknowledged his action but that was all. When the discussion was completed Dritan was given his orders and he returned to the American.

"Hoxha fears you will be too late to meet the boat and suggests you stay and wait for the next opportunity."

"Where is the pickup and how far?"

"East, on the coast at the mouth of the Ishem." He drew a map in the dirt and indicated relatively where they were. "You are to signal at one hundred hours. They wait three nights only."

Garrison knew he and Rinor had crossed in less than a day but he had ridden in a cart. Not having seen Rinor or his cart since his arrival, he was going to have to walk. This presented problems such as an inability to communicate and a lack of identity papers if he was stopped. He would be better off if he was accompanied but with the fighters down so many men, he was not going to ask. He would do this on his own. That brought thoughts of his men and missions they had survived. One involved stealing a plane; 'why walk when you can fly.' There were no planes here. Chief had stolen vehicles and in one instance they had stolen a tank and Casino, who 'started off stealing tractors' had driven them to safety. Couldn't he find something to get him to the coast faster? The burned village… Had any vehicles been left intact? That was too risky. What about Bushnesh or the other city? Somewhere there had to be a vehicle. He would wait for the evening meal and then leave. Why did he just think of Goniff? Food; he really was identifying with his men. With a shake of his head he told Dritan his plan.

As hungry as Garrison was he knew he was going to have to travel fast and light. He ate half a ration and said his good byes. Dritan led him to the path down toward Bushnesh but then he was on his own. Walking fast he made the outskirts of the city without incident. He located a cart but no animal so he kept going.

Fortune smiled on the Lieutenant when he spotted a German Officer's car parked along the street. The driver was sitting smoking a cigarette while he waited. Garrison walked toward the car. When he neared the back bumper he stopped and sniffed the air then leaned in toward the back. Satisfied he moved up to the window. The driver had been watching him and rolled down the window. Garrison told him that he thought the gas tank was leaking, he smelled gas. On cue the driver got out to check. A quick chop and the American had his car.

Fortunately, blessed with an excellent sense of direction he was soon on the right road and headed for the coast. Unfortunately the car ran out of gas but he was well on his way. He ran and walked until it was too dark to see. Damn, he was so close.

This was open country with little cover. The wind was also unimpeded blowing right off the water. It was cold so he hunkered down beside the brush that grew along the road and burrowed into his coat as best he could. It was too cold to sleep but he could rest.

Someone up there liked him because the wind blew cold but it also blew a break in the clouds allowing starlight to interrupt the dark. That was all he needed and he was off again.

Garrison, thanks to his daily run, walked and ran through the night finally reaching his destination but the gathering light told him that he had missed his appointment with a signal. Now he needed a place to sleep until tomorrow. Dare he go to the Jewish family's cottage? He did not have much choice.


	3. Chapter 3

On My Own

Chapter 3

The family did not exactly welcome him but they did not refuse him either. In payment he chopped wood and brought it in. When he offered to set snares for game or go hunting, Salomon, the grandfather, agreed to accompany him. His constant chatter was probably the reason they came back empty handed. He was lonely for a man to talk to.

That night after the dishes were done and the children were in bed, Salomon and his daughter, Sara, sat by the fire with their guest. Though reluctant at first, Sara began to tell of their flight from Germany. Some he had heard from her father but he listened as she related the hardships they had endured in hopes of surviving. Her husband had been arrested and taken away. She feared he was dead and even if he too survived she had no way of telling him where she and their children had gone.

Finally the time drew near so accompanied by the old man, he headed out with a lantern to the mouth of the river. They peered out into the darkness for so long that Garrison feared he had come too late. That was when he saw the light and he waved the lantern before trimming the wick. All he had to do was wait for the boat and then he was on his way.

Silently, out of the dark a small craft approached the shore. Garrison shook Salomon's hand, waded out and climbed in. The two man crew took him out to the PT Boat that was waiting out past the breaking waves.

Once on board he had a talk with the Captain. Half an hour later a sailor gave him the message he had been waiting for. His mission had been cancelled shortly after he had left the dock. Drago had died for nothing.

The PT boat ran through the night bringing him to their base. From there he was taken to the airbase and flown to England.

The debriefing had finally been completed so he stood and saluted as Major Johns gathered up his notes to leave. Garrison was tired and ready to go home. Another hour or so and he was going to bed.

"Oh, and Lieutenant…" said Major Johns.

Garrison did not like the tone of voice. He and the Major did not always see eye to eye but he had it on good authority that behind his back Johns supported him. To his face he was very critical but that was just his way of making sure you did your job. Right now he didn't want any more of his criticism, he was tired. Whatever it was, couldn't it wait until tomorrow?

"Yes, Sir." Silently he hoped he would just say 'good job' or 'that was a stupid move trusting a civilian'. They had gone over whether he had done enough to get back to Italy.

"Before you go…"

Shit, thought Garrison. Here it comes.

"You might want to stop in at the hospital." Garrison's heart sank. "One of your men was brought in."

What the Hell happened, he wondered but he wasn't going to ask.

He knew when he arrived at the hospital that visiting hours were over; still he went in and headed for the Nurses Station. The Night Nurse warned him that he was too late.

"I just got back from Europe and was told one of my men was here." He told her his name and the patient's before adding, "I just want a look to see if he's okay. I won't say a word." She looked at him measuring him to his words. He must have looked tired and worried enough so she checked the desk notes then gestured for him to follow. At the door she said, "He was not having a good night but I think he has finally gone to sleep so…," and she put her finger to her lips. He nodded and they silently entered the Ward; two rows of beds filled with injured men. It was a sad sight to see. The lights were dimmed and a soft snoring came from at least two sources. He scanned the beds as she led him down the aisle and stopped. He recognized the dark haired patient. He was lying still like the others; the bandages a stark reminder of why he was here. Was he asleep? He couldn't tell. He was going to have to come back in the morning to talk to the Doctor but for now he was in good hands.

Trained to be observant he noticed the difference but it was later that he knew what it was. All the patients were dressed in identical pajama, covered with a white sheet and a blue blanket. This one bed, above the top of the sheet was green plaid, like he was wearing a dressing gown. Was he cold?

There was no time to figure it out; the nurse was waiting for him to leave. He appreciated her bending the rules to let him in so he wasn't going to antagonize her. He followed her back out and thanked her. It was time to go to their base. Maybe he could get some answers there.

Garrison parked the jeep. It was almost three hundred hours and the Sargent-Major would be asleep so he let himself in and went to his room. Stripping off his clothes he reached for his dressing gown… It wasn't there. He checked the entire closet, the end of his bed… Where was it? He always put it on the hook inside the closet door but there was nothing there. It wasn't laundry day, he had left it hanging right there… His green… plaid… dressing gown.

That was when it clicked. His green plaid dressing gown was not here; it was at the hospital with… Why was it there? What the Hell? Pulling his pants back on he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to bed.

Lieutenant Garrison was exhausted but he wanted answers. The Sargent-Major would have some of the facts, at least the ones reported to him but he also wanted to yell at someone. As tired as he was he had set his alarm and was now sitting at the kitchen table. The coffee was perking as he sat enjoying the peace he knew was not going to last. Actor was the first to arrive.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." He sounded pleased to see him. "I trust all went well?"

"As well as could be."

"What time did you get in?" he asked as he pulled the cast iron frying pan onto the burner after lighting it.

"A few hours ago."

"Eggs and toast?"

Garrison got up and sliced the bread after answering in the affirmative. The other two men soon followed. Once everyone was sitting he dropped the bomb.

"What happened to Chief?"

As the most eloquent Actor thought back to what had happened before he began his narrative.

The cons had headed for their favorite spot, The Doves. This small pub located in the lower level of a dry goods store was the only one in the village of Upper Hartfield. The cons had discovered this place on one of their earlier escapes and had made it their own. The dart board saw frequent use and cards took on a more serious tone when Casino was there. The bar keeper had warned them all that if there was just a hint of cheating then they would all be banned, a serious threat since this was the only licenced establishment for miles. There were probably bootleggers around if that was all they wanted but the chance to socialize was required too. All Casino had to do was let the locals win a hand or two. As long as he came out ahead, even a quid, he was happy.

Chief had driven the jeep into the village where they all saw that something was going on. There were people milling around and even a tent was being put up. Chief parked and they went to investigate.

On the village green a tall pole had been erected. Goniff informed them that it was a Maypole and later there would be dancing. Several piles of branches had been prepared for bonfires that would be lit later on. They were informed that if they jumped through the flames they would have luck the following year. A comment was made about the only outdoor fires they had were to cook their meals.

Off to the side two ladies were struggling with a reluctant table leg so Actor went to assist.

"Thank you," said one of the ladies. "You're one of those Yanks, aren't you," she added with a smile as Actor fixed the leg.

"And you must be…?" He extended his hand and she accepted it.

"I am Mrs. Agnes Woodhead," she said and then blushed as he kissed her hand. "Oh my!"

"I'm Miss Frampton," said the other lady, elbowing her way out front. She held out her hand as she added, "Her younger sister."

Actor obliged and added, "Two lovely ladies," much to their delight. "And what is the occasion that brings such fair ladies to our midst?"

"It's Mayday, the first of May and we are co-chairs of the Hartfield Ladies Garden Club. Would you like to take a tour of our local gardens?" asked Agnes subtly trying to elbow her sister out of the way. She was not budging.

"That sounds delightful but right now I have an appointment to discuss some… business, so I must take my leave." If he had worn a hat he would have tipped it but lacking that he nodded and stepped back. They headed for the pub.

"Didn't you want to take a tour of the garden?" asked Goniff with a wink.

"There are often secluded places in a well-designed garden, places where you can sit and get to know your companion while taking in the fresh air and delightful aromas." Actor was pleased to see the smug look change to interest. Goniff had obviously never made love in a garden.

The pub was a popular spot for the local men to pass the time while waiting for the festivities to begin so they ended up standing at the bar. The usual hubbub filled the air until a piercing whistle brought silence.

"Little Jimmy Linford is missing," stated the local Bobby, Constable Whalen, who was standing half way down the steps. "His Mum's looked everywhere. The pub is now closed and we're asking for volunteers to search."

The din rose again with many shouts of 'Not Jimmy," and 'The poor tyke." No one left, they all wanted to help including the cons.

The searchers were told to check in every hour so there were quite a few men at the bar an hour later when they heard the news. Constable Whalen hurried down the steps and announced, "Jimmy has just returned home. His Mum came to give me the news. How…" He was drowned out by the cheering. He let them go but when it died down he asked, "How many still out looking?"

A quick head count showed only a few missing so the bar was opened again and the refreshments began flowing again to celebrate the successful search.

Chief had not returned when the announcement was made but they assumed he would be back. An hour later and still no Chief so they had gone looking. More than a mile away Casino had found their team mate. A shot fired brought the others.

"What happened?" asked Actor as he entered the clearing. Chief was tangled in a thicket which Casino was trying to clear. They finally got him clear but no one said anything. One look and they knew it was serious. All around Chief's left eye was swollen and his eye was clotted with dried blood. His left hand was also bloodied. Both eyes were closed.

"Chief, what happened?"

Slowly his hands rose shakily to cup his eyes. His mouth was open and he was panting. He was in shock.

"It is all right. Let us help you. Casino, take his arm." With Goniff holding branches out of their way they took him back to the village. From there he was taken to the hospital.

"So what happened to him?" asked the Officer when Actor finished. He couldn't quite see Chief running into a branch but he did not see any other way he could have injured his eyes.

"We are unsure and Chief was uncommunicative. We followed him to the Hospital and waited. The Doctor said he had been hit in the eye by something. It was hard for him to determine the extent of the damage since they had to sedate Chief to do the examination."

"When did it happen?"

"Yesterday. I called last night and was told that he was not doing well but I was also reminded visiting hours were over." The unspoken sentiment was that he had wanted to run a con to get in to see him.

Garrison was watching his men. What they said and what they did, did not always match. Goniff, whose face was the easiest to read, showed only worry. Casino, on the other hand, showed a flicker of something; he wasn't sure what.

"So we going to see 'im?"

"There is one other thing," Garrison said, continuing to watch his men. "I seem to be missing my dressing gown."

There it was again. Casino looked away. He had something to do with it. "Casino?"

"What?" He might be able to guilt Goniff into confessing but not Casino.

The interrogation was interrupted by the arrival of the Sargent-Major.

"Good morning, Sir. I 'eard you come in but when I got there you had already gone to your room." He knew not to suggest that the Officer might sleep in. "I trust all went well." The British non-com was a good soldier. He knew not to ask about the mission so this was just a general conversation starter.

"As could be expected." He looked at his men as he asked, "Any trouble here?"

Again Casino reacted, though it was just a slight tightening of his eyes. Goniff flicked a quick look at the Brit and Actor remained unfazed. Casino was in the middle of that too.

"Nothing that wasn't expected."

His words confirmed Garrison's suspicion. One more thing to deal with; welcome home, Craig. First things first. "Finish up and get the dishes done," he said as he stood. Signalling to the non-com he headed for his Office. They had things to discuss.

"He going to rat us out?" crabbed Casino.

"It is not as if you did anything wrong," said Actor trying to ease the tension.

"Me? I didn't hear you say anything."

"You were the one who faked the injury."

Casino and Goniff both grinned at the memory. It had been a spur of the moment thing. Chief had thrown the first knife and without thinking of the ramifications he pulled it out, closed it and hid it in his hand. He was going to tell Chief he missed the target but Chief must have seen what he did because he took another blade out and pretended to throw it. Casino had placed the closed knife against his chest and screamed; The Sargent-Major's reaction was priceless. He thought the guy was going to have a heart attack and die on the spot. Actor and Goniff had both looked stunned too but the Brit's reaction was too good. Oh, he yelled and cussed and threatened them with all sorts of punishments but they were laughing too hard to care. They might have to face the Warden's wrath now but it was funny at the time. Hell, it was still funny.

By the time the cons had the breakfast dishes washed and put away Garrison was still wading through his paperwork. When that was finally finished they headed for the hospital to see their team mate.

Chief woke early, as was his custom, the sounds of voices and people moving about bringing him to full consciousness. The sounds and smells told him he was not at their base and his awareness prickled. It was not fear but a heightened awareness. He had lived with danger all around him for so long he was no longer afraid, he had accepted his death long ago, but he was not willing to go quietly. 'Be aware of what is around you, who and what and how close. Where is your rabbit hole?' Those words spoken to him so long ago by the Apache woman who had raised him, had never left him. 'Be aware.'

Even if he didn't remember what had happened he knew where he was. It wasn't the voices, male and female, that told him, or the smell of blood and men's bodies, it was the antiseptic smell. Even the breakfast trays, now approaching, were not enough to cover it. He was in the hospital and his eyes were bandaged. There was a chance he was going to be blind or at least blind in one eye. Everything was blurry the last he remembered but then he was in pain and bleeding. The pain was gone now but by his eye was tender and his face was swollen. What would happen to him if he was? Would Garrison keep him on?

The Doctor was approaching, talking to the patient two beds away, something about his leg. He stopped listening and waited.

Then he was talking to the guy in the next bed over and finally he was standing at the end of his bed. The scrape of metal on metal hopefully meant he had picked up and was reading his chart. Was there anything else but medical stuff on there, he wondered. They wouldn't put he was a convicted murderer on there, would they? He wanted him to hurry up because not being able to see was… he didn't like it. At least right now he had hope. Once the bandages were off he would know for sure. Good or bad.

The Doctor's footsteps approach the left side of his bed and stopped.

"All right, let's have a look. Scissors."

He sounded the same as he did with the other patients so he guessed there was only medical on his chart. He felt the cold steel against his skin at his cheekbone and then the sound of cutting. The slight pressure around his head was released as the gauze fell away. The pads over his eyes were removed and he saw the glow through his eyelids. Carefully he opened his eyes and squinted and blinked at the bright light. His eyes watered but he could see. He saw the sheet covering him and the blanket and the Doctor and the nurse behind him. He could see… Wait. His left eye was not open so he concentrated. He got it partly open but was rewarded for his effort by a stab of pain in his eyeball and his eyelid closed as he turned away. Blinking, he got it under control and he looked back slowly. He could see. Even closing his right eye he could still see. The swelling reduced his field of vision but he could see.

This miracle distracted him so he missed the Doctor's movement. Suddenly a bright light stabbed his still tender eye and without thought he swatted the light away as he turned and closed his eyes against the pain. There was a clatter off to the side and a woman gasped but he didn't care.

As quickly as he could he turned back. His move had been automatic; someone hurts you, you hit back but a Doctor might not see it that way. He waited for the blow but it didn't come. Instead the man sat, frowning, as his light was handed back to him.

"Guess I should have warned you," was all he said as he checked to see if it was still working and then brought the beam up to his face. "Your reflexes are fine, now I need to check your eyes response."

Chief nodded and sat still while the light was flashed in his eyes again.

"Good." The Doctor took the chart from the nurse and began to write. Chief wondered if he should apologize but the Doctor did not seem to expect it so he remained quiet. Besides, anyone who saw what happened would leave him alone. That was good too.

The Doctor looked up as he handed the chart back to the nurse. "There's still a lot of swelling around your eye but that should go down. I want you to wear a patch over your eye to protect it. You can take it off for short periods of time but I want it protected. I'll discharge you today but you need to come back to get the stitches out. Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll have to call my base for a ride." There was no response; the two medical personnel were already moving on to the next patient.

His breakfast tray arrived and he ate most of the cereal and toast. He missed the morning chatter back home. Once it was removed another nurse arrived. She put another gauze pad over his eye and put the patch in place. She was pretty and he liked her smile as she said that now he looked like a pirate. He couldn't help smiling back at her. Yeah, an Indian half-breed pirate in a green plaid…

Shit, he was wearing Garrison's robe. He thought back.

Last night had started off bad. He had woken up with a burning pain in his eye and the side of his face was sore. That plus not being able to see in a strange place prevented him from getting to sleep. He had sat up listening. The nurse tried to get him to lie down but he couldn't relax. Finally when he had dozed off he had had a nightmare that woke him up and the guys on either side as well.

At some point he heard a voice that he recognized. Casino was here. He hadn't been injured, had he? What was he doing here?

"Chief?" he whispered. "I know you don't like not being able to see, you know, around you. I don't got the clout the Warden does to get'm to let one of us stay so I brought you the next best thing. You're in a hospital and you're safe here but just to put your mind at ease I brought you this. I'm gonna put it by your hand."

Chief had felt something touch him and he had felt it. It was soft material.

"This here's the Warden's dressing gown. He's not back so he won't miss it tonight. You can feel this and picture the Warden here. It'll help. Okay? I gotta go. Matron's gonna be by soon so tuck that under your blanket and don't let her see it. Okay? You'll be fine, kid and we'll be by in the morning. See ya." With that, soft footsteps retreating and he was gone.

It sounded stupid. He was a grown man, he didn't need a security blanket like a little kid but damned if it didn't make him feel better. As he held it close he could smell the Lieutenant, his cologne, his scent and he was able to relax. At some point he had put it on and slept the rest of the night.

What should he do? Should he leave it on?

"Hey, I see you got your bandages off. That's good news. What'd he say about you eye. You're not going to lose it are you?" His neighbour was friendly.

Chief turned to look. "No, just gotta rest it." The soldier was lying back with his arm in a sling and a bandage around his upper arm.

"That's good news. He say when you could leave?"

"Today."

"Good. We can go back together. Hey, what outfit you with; I don't remember seeing you around."

"I'm new." He would not be going back with him but it wasn't worth explaining. Besides he had to get to a phone to let the guys know or the Sargent-Major. Someone was going to have to come get him.

"What rotten luck. First time out and you're injured."

Chief grunted noncommittally.

Knowing he was leaving he had gotten dressed but he was unsure what to do with the robe. He had to get it back so he asked if the nurse could get him a bag to carry it in. She had said she would do what she could but before she returned he saw Garrison walk into the Ward. There was nothing he could do so he slung it over his arm and stood.

His neighbour took one look at his clothes and said, "Civvies?"

Keeping his eyes on his CO he had just shrugged and then stepped out to meet him.

"How's your eye?" asked the Officer as he led him out of the building.

"It's okay."

When they arrived at the jeep he climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Garrison to start the engine. "Yer not mad at Casino fer bringing..." and he plucked at the robe that was folded on his lap.

Garrison had his answer of how the robe got there. "No. I assume you didn't ask him to."

The answer was an immediate, "No." He looked around as Garrison pulled out onto the road, unsure of how to say what was on his mind.

"I bin on my own lots before but last night… I guess I got used to havin' you guys around an…"

"I understand, Chief."

Quickly he added, "I didn't need it." Maybe too quickly so he added, "I woulda bin okay if he hadn't…"

Garrison smiled to ease the poor man. The guy was so unused to someone helping him, still uncomfortable with the thought that admitting needing someone didn't showed you were weak.

Garrison was going to add, "Just don't expect it every time," but realized that was too much. Chief would never take advantage of an offer of help.

To change the subject he asked, "Can you tell me what happened? I know you were helping to look for a young boy." He asked with an interested, non-commanding tone. The Indian did not respond well to orders.

"Casino an' Goniff were going together an Actor stopped to ask somethin' so I figured I was better on my own. I looked for a while before I saw his jacket. I called to him and he jumped so I went kinda slow so I wouldn't scare'im. He tried ta run so I followed'im. When I got closer he turned away so I went closer ta grab'im but he turned real fast. He must thrown somethin' 'cause it hit me in the eye." He shook his head slowly. "It was so … so…"

"Unexpected?"

"Yeah. I know kids can be sneaky but I didn't expect a lost kid ta blind me." He paused as he thought that over. "So who found 'im?"

"He came home on his own."

"He said somethin' about Benny. I don't know what he meant. I told 'im his ma was worried about 'im. Guess he wasn't lost after all."

He hung his head. "After he hit me I just sat there for a bit. I tried to get back but I couldn't see. I must a got turned around."

Garrison thought about how it would feel. Getting an eyelash in your eye was bad enough but being hit with a stone in the eye would hurt. It would be a shock too. The Doctor said there was a deep cut at the corner of his eye. That would hurt and be frightening too.

"We've got a week off so you have time to recover. I'll take you back to get the stitches out."

"Thanks." Chief touched the patch. He looked like a pirate with it on but the sight of the swelling and bruising around his eye and the blood in his eye looked worse. He would rather put up with Goniff's "Arrr, me matees" than the stares he knew he would get without it.

After Garrison left for the Hospital Goniff had had an idea and was now standing at the door considering his next move. He knew what had to be done and he was the best man for the job. Hell, he was the only one who could do it. Even the great con man, Actor, couldn't do it. He, Goniff the Good, was going to walk right out there and… He couldn't. They weren't strangers out there. They knew him.

He had done it before, lots of times… but never on his own. The guys did it and he went along. It was easy, just follow Casino. Casino wasn't here so he had to do it. If he got caught…

If it was the lot of them the Warden just lectured them and all was forgiven. This time would he just…?

He had to and he had to do it right so he didn't get caught and he had to do it right under their noses. That brought a smile to his face. If there was something he enjoyed it was doing something right under their noses, like the time he had lifted the Warden's cigarettes and matches and Actor's tobacco. Oh that had been fun to watch as Actor reached for it and it was gone. The look on his face when he realized it wasn't where he thought he had put it.

Yes he would do this. Taking a deep breath he opened the door and put his plan into action.

"About my robe," started the Officer. He had brought Chief home and now he wanted to talk to the safecracker.

"Aw, come on Warden. You weren't here. You weren't using it and the kid…"

"Casino." He interrupted the tirade but did not raise his voice.

"You can't be serious. You're gonna…"

"Casino," he interrupted again without emotion.

"What?" he demanded. Garrison's lack of aggression was getting through but he wasn't giving in yet.

"Whose idea was it?" The question was asked without accusation.

"It was mine. I was acting on my own. Don't you be giving Goniff any shit over it. He had …"

"Thank you, Casino." He had planned to say something else but the opportunity was too good to pass up. It worked too.

The volatile safecracker stopped dead. He blinked, frowned and asked, "For what?"

"For thinking about Chief and doing something about it."

Still unconvinced and waiting for the other shoe to drop he asked suspiciously, "So you're not mad?"

"No." Garrison smiled and watched as Casino relaxed a bit. "But just…"and Casino tensed again. He smiled inwardly as he finished. "Don't be giving my robe away every time I'm not here. Understand?"

Casino snorted then grinned. "Yeah."

"Just out of curiosity, what made you think of that?"

"Taking him your robe? Actor's got a friend on the Hospital staff," He snickered. "We couldn't get in to see him so he called her. She said he was having a bad time so I figured I couldn't give him his knife and seeing as you weren't here and the kid looks up to you…"

"I wouldn't have thought of that." It probably worked too. Alone in a room full of people he couldn't see he would appreciate something from home.

"One other thing…"

Casino had headed for the door but stopped and turned at his words.

"The Sargent-Major…"

Casino laughed and said, "Yeah." He knew what Garrison was referring to; their little prank. "You should'a seen the look on his face. It was priceless. Shit! we laughed."

"He didn't think it was funny."

"No he wouldn't but the guy had been riding us. He needed to back off. And it was almost too easy. I tried to get one of Chief's knives to throw at him when he was setting up the target but he moved too fast. When he suggested I be the target …" He broke into laughter.

"He turned his back so I grabbed the first knife and when I held it in front of my chest and screamed he 'bout pissed his pants." Casino was laughing so hard he could hardly talk. Garrison found himself laughing not only at the visual of the poor Brit but also the sight of Casino. It was good to see Casino laugh.

Before he could leave Goniff arrived bubbling with news. "I found out what happened to Chiefy."

Actor heard the commotion and he came into the Office too.

"The little tyke 'it 'im with a switch."

A chorus of confused, "What?"s greeted that statement.

"I went and saw the little tyke. I asked 'im what 'appened. "'E told me that when we were lookin' at the bonfires Casino said we cooked rabbit over stuff like that. Seems 'e 'as a pet rabbit and 'e thought Casino was going to eat 'is rabbit so 'e ran away to save it. Then when Chiefy found 'im 'e wasn't going to let 'im 'ave his rabbit so 'e 'it 'im with a switch."

"A switch; you mean a stick," said Actor. Seeing Goniff's nod he added angrily, "He hit Chief in the eye with a stick."

"'E's just a boy. 'E didn't mean to 'urt 'im. 'E was defending 'is pet rabbit."

"But Chief could have lost his eye."

No one saw the man being referred to slip into the room and lift the patch. He had wanted to know why it had happened and now he knew.

"You can't be mad at him," said Goniff defensively. "He didn't mean it."

Actor saw the truth in that. A child would not think that far ahead but the thought of what had almost happened remained. "I hope you told him what he caused."

"Yeah, I told him. 'E said 'e was sorry."

"Chief is the one he needs to apologize to."

Chief wanted no part of that so he slipped out again before everyone else noticed. He didn't want to see that kid again, not for a long time.

Finally Garrison sat alone. It was good to be back with his men. He had no qualms about going on a mission alone; sometimes that was necessary but it was good to have people you trust around you. It was also good to know that in his absence they were able to look out for each other, even take the initiative to make sure that happened. They were a good team even if they did get into trouble sometimes, or a lot. He thought back to when he was in the water, even then they had helped him. He had been on his own but not really alone.


	4. Chapter 4

On My Own

Epilogue

Chief did not get his wish. Not only did he have to see the child but he was surrounded by many children. It had started with a phone call from the vicar. The local ladies were putting on a party for the children. When asked, the vicar explained that there were so few young men left that he thought it would be good for the children to see men of their fathers' ages instead of just women. Garrison had wondered but kept to himself, if the vicar was trying to marry off some of the widows. He chastised himself for attributing such unkind thoughts to the holy man; but were they unkind? It would be a kindness to the widows, unless, they too, died.

Having agreed, he then told his men. Goniff loved a party and children so he was all for it. Casino was an unexpected natural. The mission where they had to bring three babies out of Germany had proven that. He was smiling. Actor puffed on his pipe and nodded. He would see the logic and would comply. Chief was neutral. He had taken off the patch and the swelling had gone done considerably but there was still some bruising and blood in his eye. Rather than scare the children he would probably put it back on.

The day of the party Garrison was pleased to see his men getting ready. The vicar had suggested he wear his uniform so he was just polishing his shoes when Chief arrived in his office.

"I'd like to stay here."

"Oh?"

"I, uh," he licked his lips. "I don't wanna go."

"Look, Chief, it's just a kids' party. They'll play some games, eat some cake and that's all. You don't have to do anything." The poor man did look uncomfortable but then he was not one for parties or children. That was when it hit him. It was a child who had caused his injury. Did he not want to be around children or just one in particular? It would be easier to just let him stay here but in the end he had to face a child, sooner or later. He had to settle this and so did the child.

"I want you to come with us." Garrison watched as Chief's eyes dropped to the floor and he turned and left. It was a relief when his men didn't fight him on everything but sometimes, like now, he felt bad about what he had to make them do. It was for his own good but that didn't make the sight of a defeated Chief any easier. He went back to polishing his shoe, giving it an extra hard buff.

"I take it the young man was an only child," said Miss Rooke, one of the ladies who were helping to look after the children. She had come over to where Garrison was standing. Though she had smiled at him when she approached she was now watching the children.

Concerned about his men's privacy, their shady backgrounds and the work they did, he asked nonchalantly, "Why do you ask?"

Fortunately she was too busy watching to pick up on his suspicion. "He looks decidedly uncomfortable, like he does not know how to play with children."

It was true. Goniff was in his glory. Three or four children were playing 'catch me if you can'. One minute he was walking and quacking like a duck and the next he was marching like a guard at Buckingham Palace and then like Charlie Chaplin, always evading the little hands that followed him, staying one step ahead. They were laughing and calling to each other. Over on the other side of the yard Actor was giving piggy-back rides. Farther down Casino was pitching an oversized ball to the bigger kids who were lined up for a turn with the cricket bat. They had tried to teach him how to play cricket but he had feigned ignorance and bumbling ineptitude.

Chief stood off to the side. One of the children came over and tried to take his hand, obviously not put off by the patch over his eye. Chief resisted at first then let him take his hand but balked at being pulled. The child asked a question and he squatted down to listen but the look on his face was telling. He shook his head and the child wandered off. The Indian stood and took a step back.

"Yes, you're right, he does and yes, as far as I know, he was an only child."

"Did he not have playmates? Maybe in school?" The young woman turned to look at him, concern written all over her face. She was older, in her mid-fifties but from the shape of the wrinkles, she had spent a lot of time laughing. The children loved her.

"I think he was forced to grow up too soon. He doesn't talk about his childhood; it obviously was not pleasant." Garrison thought back to what he had learned over the time they had worked together.

"Such a shame. Time spent playing shapes us as adults. Rodney obviously had a wonderful childhood, a time he has not forgotten."

Garrison knew all too well how child-like Goniff could be, much to his annoyance at times. Casino's experience with his brothers and sisters showed. He was encouraging the smallest child and showing him how to hold the bat. Moving in closer before tossing the ball he made sure the child hit the ball, much to both their delight. He would be a wonderful father.

And Actor, the ultimate class gentleman, was galloping around the yard with a delighted passenger clinging to his back. Garrison looked back to Chief and was not surprised to see he was gone. What would happen when he finally met a girl, got married and she wanted a family? Excusing himself he went in search of his youngest team member.


End file.
